


Killer Queen

by needssleep



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needssleep/pseuds/needssleep
Summary: Inspired by listening to Queen's Killer Queen on repeat for the last two days.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Killer Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by listening to Queen's Killer Queen on repeat for the last two days.

Choi Chanhee. Chanhee Choi. However you prefer it, whatever way you said it, that name elicit the same response from all who knew it. Choi Chanhee, the boy who lived in more luxury that the Queen of England, sharing caviar and cigarettes with the worlds richest people as they discussed economics and Karen’s latest husband. 

Choi Chanhee, the young man who went through husbands faster than a prostitute goes through condoms. No one will ever truly know how he does it, never married for longer than five months, long enough to be placed in the will and move onto the next dying man. They never live past those five months, ever. Whether Chanhee has a natural talent for spotting out those on their death beds or kills them himself only makes the mystery of Choi Chanhee more thrilling and inviting. 

Choi Chanhee never spotted without a delicate string of pearls strung around his neck and a golden watch clasped to his wrist. Apparently he had three whole rooms dedicated to his clothes, apparently he only bought from Brioni and Louis Vuitton, apparently he had an entire closet filled with identical diamond bracelets, one from each husband. 

Choi Chanhee, eternally a frequent guest at London fashion week, buying half of each seasons Burberry collection. Paris fashion week was not favourable to him, and New York too tacky for this modern-day billionaire. Seoul Fashion Week was the only other event deemed valuable for Chanhee’s presence, an event he funded whenever a particular line caught his attention. 

Choi Chanhee, secretly a mathematical genius, constantly on the phone with Apple and Samsung, sorting out their technical problems. A degree from MIT that he kept hung above his desk in his personal office at the headquarters of Google, a company he owned shares in. Not only a maths whizz, but a engineering prodigy, building and creating the newest piece of technology or IT that would change lives on the daily. 

Choi Chanhee, who had so many houses that it was still unknown where he actually lived. Was it in Dubai, London, Los Angeles, Beijing, Auckland, Canberra, Vancouver, Honolulu? Houses of varying sizes, accommodating celebrities of all kinds, dropping in to see their dearest friend- 

“Choi Chanhee.”

The sharp calling of his name brought Chanhee back to the hustle and bustle of the store. 

“concentrate, take this ladies order.”

Chanhee lazily nodded and stood straighter, leaning over the cash register. 

“What can I get you?” He said, fingers hovering over the print marked screen. 

“Caramel macchiato, oat milk, vegan caramel please. And not any of this two-shot nonsense, I’ll have four espresso shots.”

Tiredly, he punched the order in, his fingers already red from a long eight-hour shift of putting in orders, slightly burnt from spilling coffee on himself three hours into his shift. 

“Anything else ma’am.” He asked, offering a small smile to the woman. She shook her head and payed, clicking away in her fancy heels, Brioni and Louis Vuitton bags hitting sitting costumers. 

“See wasn’t so hard. Just gotta be nice.” His boss teased. “Now get lost, I don’t want you falling asleep in front of customers.”

In reality, Choi Chanhee worked at Starbucks, eight hours a day, every day. He’d started and dropped out of university two years ago and was going nowhere with his life. He could only day dream to keep the pain of real life away. 

In reality, Choi Chanhee had never had caviar or cigars, although he did have a rather unhealthy nicotine addiction that he quenched by slipping a cigarette into his lips as he walked through the filthy, dangerous streets of downtown Seoul, his ten year old rucksack slipping of his shoulders as the straps fought in effort to stay attached to the bag. 

In reality, Choi Chanhee had never owned pearls or diamonds or Louis Vuitton or Brioni. The most expensive item of clothing he owned on his small rack of clothing, was the second hand (probably fake) Gucci belt his roommate Kevin had given him for his birthday last year. Kevin had been the only one who remembered it was his birthday. 

Outside his dreams, Choi Chanhee had never been to Auckland or Honolulu, the closest he’d been to Canada was forementioned Vancouver born roommate. LA and London were mere fairy-tale cities that existed only in his mind. 

Choi Chanhee. Chanhee Choi. However you prefer it, whatever way you said it, that name elicit the same response from all who knew it. The exclusive number of seven people who knew Chanhee knew that he was barely able to pay his share of the rent for the small three bed apartment he lived in with his four roommates. He was failing math classes and had lost all hope of studying at MIT. No one believed in him, and some even hoped his pretty face would at least help him marry wealthy.

Choi Chanhee was not a Killer Queen.


End file.
